#m: I’m meaner than my demons (damian)

[enneads]

closed starter for @skymma

Damian can feel the magic pulsing off of this man. He doesn’t know if the man is familiar with this club--this is Damian’s territory--but he doesn’t mind for the moment. He signals to the bar tender to get the man another drink. Watches him carefully.

[batsheir]

( MEANER THAN MY DEMONS )

@scavengess

              Daaaaamian... The voice, soft as velvet and audible to no one but the boy crouched in the shadows, whispered through the alley like a slowly-creeping flood. It lapped at the boy’s heels, brushed against his cheek, ran its long tendrils through his hair. It was everywhere, inescapable, and didn’t seem to take any notice to the sound of hitched breathing or the sharp tang of fear emanating from the object of its desire. It relentlessly pursued him, not affected by the cape the youth wrapped himself in, or the way he curled his arms around his knees in an act of self-protection. It had been ignored for far too long, after all. Days, weeks. Months, stretching into years. It had been silenced. Suppressed. I am strong, the boy insisted. Stronger than anyone. And so the whispers had gone unheard. Neglected.

                        Until now.

          Daaaaaaamian, it sung. Weak little Damian. Unloved. Unworthy, it mocked, sinking its claws deep into the boy’s flesh. Who are you really? A hero? The son of the bat? It laughed, haughty, before whispering directly into his ear. I know who you are. Defiler. Destroyer. Assassin. Murderer. It cackled then, undeterred by the boy’s scream of ❝ Leave me alone! ❞ It wheedled through the cracks in his fingers as he covered his ears with his palms, hissing and crackling like a wildfire. You know I’m right, Damian. You know who are you. You always have, it simpered. You are an al Ghul. You cannot deny your heritage. Accept it instead. And as the night went on, and the shadows grew longer, and the voice grew stronger, Damian Wayne closed his eyes and covered his ears, and fought to shut out the insecurities that had always haunted the edge of his mind.

        For days, the vigilante known as Robin had been missing. The rooftops were notoriously empty of his presence, and the alleys and backstreets remained devoid of a bright yellow cape and green combat boots. The areas that had once been known to be under his protection once again began experiencing criminal activity, and those who had become accustomed to seeing him absently wondered where he had gone. And similarly, the child known as Damian Wayne had been missing as well—a fact that had not been as widely noticed as the disappearance of the Boy Wonder. True, only a few noted his absence, and even fewer actually worried for it.

          Three days, four, five, a week passed. And then another. And still, there was nothing. No sign of the hero or the child, and for some, the boy lapsed from their minds.

                        But not all.

        It was Rey alone who sent message after message, worry-filled sentences and questions asking after his whereabouts, his safety, asking if he was okay, and did he need her help? Only silence greeted her in response, and as the time rolled into three weeks of nothing, she began to fret and search for him, only to come up empty-handed. Doubts and fears plagued her, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not find the boy.

          Until one night, exactly twenty-seven days since the last appearance of Robin, or of Damian Wayne. Slowly, a window was opened in the mansion Rey called home, and a deep thud resounded as whatever had come through dropped heavily to the carpeted floor. For a moment, it lay motionless, yellow fabric and red laces and black hair, until finally it shifted and revealed itself to be a boy. And not just any boy, it seemed. It was her boy. Filthy and weak, dark ink marks of exhaustion under his never-still eyes, and desperation written on every curve of his body. He looked as though he’d been through a war, and, in a way, he had been. He still was.

        ❝ I’m sorry, ❞ were the only words he said, voice barely audible, as Damian climbed unsteadily to his feet before her. ❝ For everything. ❞

[enneads]

closed starter for @exitiumparit

This is frustrating.

Damian’s phone is dead, his brain is tired, he wants to communicate with Diane but he really doesn’t want to speak and try to parse out lip reading with her. The problem is, that’s really the only option.

So Damian sits abruptly in front of Diane, though he doesn’t say or sign anything at first. When she looks at him curiously, though, he points at himself, then gestures forward, then brings his hand to his forehead. He slows down a moment as he brings the hand gesture out, then points at Diane. He finishes up with a twist of his fingers around each other.

In other words: “I’m going to teach you sign.” In a basic English word order.

He doesn’t say it aloud, though, just watches Diane to see how she’ll react.

[enneads]

@hellfirebound liked for a starter!

This is Damian’s territory. He doesn’t know if this man knows it or not, but it is.

The problem is, when Damian gets close, he fucking hesitates. There’s something wrong here. Something powerful. And maybe something Damian can use.

He watches this being carefully before he asks, “Who are you?”

[enneads]

intimate - diane and damian and lena

@exitiumparit​ | non-sexual intimacy

Damian’s got his head on Diane’s chest, and it’s strangely soothing. He can’t hear her heartbeat, of course, but his head is settled in just a way between her breasts that he can feel her heartbeat instead. The steady thrumming is a grounding comfort, a connection from Damian to earth; reality.

Lena, meanwhile, lies beside their entwined mess. She traces patterns on Diane’s shoulder, then trails her fingers playfully onto Damian’s face from there. Her fingers trace his nose, his cheek bones, and down his neck until her hand finds its way back to Diane.

She’s connecting Diane and Damian like constellations in the night sky. As if they’re one.

They’re not, but maybe they could be, for a little while.

They could burn so brightly, together, the three of them.

[enneads]

Text to Damian from Diane: are you going to pour over that journal some more or are you going to fuck me

@exitiumparit | sinday asks

Damian smirks faintly when he sees thetext. Pauses before he replies.

[text: Diane] Maybe you need to work for it

[enneads]

“The fun doesn’t have to end.” (jamie @ damian)

@maniacollision​ | sinday asks

Damian smiles faintly, blinks up at Jamieagain and watches him communicate.

Then he flips over and on top of Jamie,moving to kiss his neck. He murmurs “it doesn’t” against his hearing partner’sthroat.

[enneads]

oops a new muse happened while I was away

[enneads]

❝ Some days it feels like you just can’t win. ❞ clint @ damian

@deathcalling | Frank Turner meme!!! (accepting)

Is he talking about himself, or aboutDamian? Both of them, maybe.

Damian is lying on the floor, staring up atthe ceiling—or he would be, if Clint weren’t crouching in the way so thatDamian can see him when he signs.

But screw it, Damian’s entitled to hismisery.

He signs, “Every day.”

[enneads]

“ hard things happen to people all the time. ” clint signing @ damien

@deathcalling​ | rifleman meme (accepting)

Damian frowns at that, looks at Clintseriously for a moment. He signs, “To some more than others,” and maybe it’s alittle stern, the way he makes the last gesture. But sometimes, it felt thatway. Like shit piled up most on those who didn’t deserve it. But he softens andsigns, “I’m tired.”

[enneads]

“ every book has a soul. ” dorian @ whoever u want

@deathcalling​ | rifleman meme (accepting)

Damian thinks, half-fondly, of his owngrimoire, a book he has poured his heart and soul into.

But he also thinks of how, even after allthis time, he hasn’t been able to access magic of his own. It’s all beenborrowed.

He nods anyway. “That’s how you knowthey’re worth something.”

[enneads]

“ everything you learn comes in handy some day. one way or another. ” john @ damien

@deathcalling | rifleman meme (accepting)

Yeah, that sounds about right. Damian smiles faintly, though it’s not a soft smile. More mischievous.

He thinks John’s right. It’s something they have in common.

“That’s what makes us survivors,” he says, signing the last word for emphasis.

[enneads]

damian, truth: tell us the most embarrassing thing you've ever done. dare: slow dance for five minutes with the person you like the least in the room (the room is the rest of dust's muse list)

@skymma​ | truth or dare (bring it)

Damian raises an eyebrow. Skeptically.

But fine.

“I tried to adjust my binder at a bar,” he signed, frowning. “And got stuck. In the binder, not the stall. Lena had to come help me fix it.”